Ron's Second Chance
by ronstory
Summary: Ron feels terrible after leaving Harry and Hermione on the run. What lengths will he go to to correct his mistake and prove his loyalty? AU after Ron leaves.
1. Ron's Mistake

Ron had been at Shell Cottage for four days. Four miserable days, during which the guilt he had first felt upon walking out on Harry and Hermione had grew and grew until there was a constant nagging feeling in his stomach that he could not shake, even when he forced himself to remember the hateful argument between Harry and himself. Yes, a part of him had been angry at Harry. But that part was now overridden by the part that felt guilty. How could he have accused Harry of not caring about his family, when the Weasleys were Harry's family too, had been for years? Ron could not get rid of the feeling in his heart when he had seen the hate glistening clearly in Harry's eyes as he had spoken the words: "it's alright for you, with your parents safely out of the way!" The words haunted him in his sleep, repeated over and over again in nightmares that involved Harry dying at the hands of Voldemort while Ron stood among the Death Eaters, smirking. What kind of best friend was he? Hermione didn't have this problem. They had discussed their disappointment in the way the mission was going, yes, but Hermione hadn't walked out on Harry. How could he have asked her to choose between them? Now with the absence of the locket he realized how insignificant his relationship with Hermione was compared to Harry's mission. If Voldemort wasn't killed, there would be no chance for love, ever again.

He wished there was a way he could help Harry without physically being on the run with him. He had tried getting back, of course, but their protective enchantments were simply too well done. He supposed he could go on the run himself, but where would he go? Where would he look? He, Harry and Hermione had already gone over all the other possible places. The only place he hadn't looked was Hogwarts.

Ron snorted. Yeah, breaking into Hogwarts was sure to be a success. He could just imagine being caught and brought to Snape's office… and from there he would be brought straight to Voldemort.

"Ron?"

Ron looked up. He had been staring at his soup while he mused, twirling the spoon in his right hand while the nails of his left dug angry patterns into Bill and Fleur's wooden kitchen table. Bill was looking at him in slight annoyance; Ron gathered his snort had been ill-placed in the conversation. His eyes met Bill's and his brother sighed.

"Ron, did you hear any of that?"

"No," he said, and returned his gaze to his soup.

"Ronald, look up 'ere!" This time it was Fleur who spoke, and in a surprisingly commanding tone. "We have no problem letting you stay 'ere but zis is geeting out of 'and!" she exclaimed. "If you cannot show respect for your brother–"

"Honey, it's alright," Bill interrupted quietly.

"No, eet is not!" Fleur said indignantly. "'E 'as been moping for four days. Enough already!"

Bill opened his mouth to calm her, but Ron spoke first.

"No, Bill, she's right," he said. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more… interested in what you have to say."

Bill almost chuckled a little, but Ron was being completely honest. He would try to act more interested, but he could not guarantee actual interest. Not when he knew Harry and Hermione were still out there, probably freezing and starving… he pushed away his soup, feeling disgusted with himself.

"Ron, you 'aven't eaten in days!" admonished Fleur.

"I'm fine. What were you saying, Bill?" he asked politely.

Fleur continued to gaze at him pitifully.

"I was telling you about _Potterwatch_," Bill said.

"_Potter_watch?" Ron repeated. "What–"

"It's a radio program Lee Jordan started up. He basically talks to the general public about the Order's cause. Advises people on how to protect themselves, discusses rumors surrounding You-Know-Who and Harry, stuff like that. Gives people hope."

"But wouldn't Vold–"

"You-Know-Who!" Bill said quickly. "Merlin, Ron, are you insane?"

"What?" Ron said angrily. "You used to speak his name, Bill, what happened?"

"It's Taboo!" Bill said anxiously. "You mean to tell me the three of you didn't know? It's a ploy to catch Order members. If you say it, they can immediately trace your location."

"They?"

"The Ministry, the Death Eaters–it's all the same now, isn't it?"

"Oh bloody hell," Ron whispered. "That must've been how they got us on Tottingham Court road."

"Excuse me?"

"When we Apparated, right after the wedding. We were in a little muggle coffeeshop and all the sudden, two Death Eaters stroll right in…."

"And you haven't said it since?"

"No," Ron said. "Pure luck, that." The ever-present knot in his stomach tightened a little as he imagined Harry and Hermione discussing the Horcruxes. They would say it, surely they would, in time, they would be caught….

"Anyway," Bill said, bringing Ron back to the conversation, "there's nothing we can do about that, except maybe tell Lee to keep advertising it in _Potterwatch_. But he does that anyway. What I was really going to ask you, Ron, is if you'd be willing to do a segment on Lee's program."

"You mean… talk on the radio? About Harry?"

"Yeah," Bill said. "Nothing too direct, of course. Hope is the biggest thing we can give the public right now, and if you give an idea of what he's been up to–"

"I'm not exposing his mission over the radio, Bill, when no one in the Order even knows," Ron said darkly.

"I wasn't saying that–I just meant–just let everyone know he's okay and working against You-Know-Who–whatever that may mean…."

Bill looked very uncomfortable under Ron's glare.

"How is it that Lee hasn't been caught yet?" he asked suspiciously. "I'm supposed to be in bed with Spattergroit, remember?"

"He switches stations every time, and there's always a password to tune in. And they have code names."

Ron sat back in his chair. This would be a way to help Harry, indirectly. If he could do it without exposing himself or Harry and Hermione, it could be very helpful to the Order.

"Alright," he said, letting a small smile slip through his lips, the first one in months, it seemed. "I'm in."


	2. Listeners, Meet Rudolph

It was a few days before Bill even contacted Lee with the idea, first wishing for Ron to listen to the program and prepare what he wanted to say. Ron was impressed with the program Lee and the others had created. It was just what the wizarding public needed to stay on the right track.

Getting Ron onto _Potterwatch_ turned out to be a bit of a hassle. Bill had to contact Lee through the Order, and that involved Flooing to headquarters at Aunt Muriel's, where Lee was staying. Many of the Order members vocal about their actions in the war were forced to go into temporary hiding at various safe houses. Muriel had her hands full with Lee and Remus.

The Weasleys were spread all over the map. Charlie had stayed at the Burrow with Ron's parents after the wedding instead of going back to Romania, while Bill was at Shell Cottage with Fleur. Ginny was at Hogwarts. Percy was, unfortunately, still cut off from the family and working at the Ministry under Umbridge. Fred and George maintained the joke shop. Ron was surprised none of them had been bothered much by the Ministry. Bill had told him about the success of the Spattergroit prank and assured Ron that though his father was being watched at the Ministry, there had been few rough patches since Ron, Harry and Hermione had fled from public eye.

Ron sat anxiously in his brother's kitchen with Fleur as they waited for Bill to come back from Ron would have liked to hide from the rest of his family, it would be impossible if he wanted to speak on _Potterwatch_. Fred was a regular on the program, and Bill would be questioned by various Order members as he sought Lee at Aunt Muriel's. It was not worth it to keep the secret, as much as Ron wished he could avoid the harsh, well deserved words his family were sure to throw at him when they found out he had abandoned his two best friends on their most important quest yet.

He felt someone tap his shoulder. It was Fleur, scolding him for ignoring her. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He apologized and accepted the parchment and ink she had placed in front of him. He twirled the quill in his fingers, wondering what would be safe to write. Nothing about the Horcruxes, obviously. Nothing that would make his own identity too obvious.

Ron sighed and banged his head on the table. What had he agreed to? Was there anything he could say that would be considered 'safe'?

By the time Bill returned, dinner was ready and Ron had not budged from his seat at the table. Fleur had left him to himself the whole afternoon, but it had been in vain. The parchment in front of him remained stubbornly blank. He supposed he'd have to work on it after dinner. After all, he was starving. Now that he was back on track doing something useful for the Order, he didn't feel as guilty eating when Harry and Hermione were still on the run.

That, and he was, admittedly, quite hungry.

"Ron, Lee's found a great place for the next broadcast," Bill informed him, as they tucked into steaming hot bouillabaisse, Fleur's special treat in celebration of the next _Potterwatch_. "He's all set to go for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Ron spluttered, spraying hot soup onto his lap. He thought of the blank parchment and gulped. "Tomorrow–er–yeah, tomorrow, great, great…."

"Don't worry too much, Ron," he said, as if he knew what Ron was thinking, "it's not a huge thing. Just a few minutes worth, answer Lee's questions as best you can."

"Right," Ron said. "Who will be there again?"

"Lee, Fred, Kingsley, and Remus."

"Okay," Ron said, feeling queasy, "great. Brilliant. I think I'll go upstairs and just, er–review what I'm going to say."

He took one last spoonful of bouillabaisse and then left, scooping up the parchment and quill from the table and leaving his brother and his wife to the rest of their dinner.

Less than a day later found Ron and Bill preparing to go to the secret location Lee had found for that afternoon's broadcast of _Potterwatch_. After a restless night, Ron had forgone the still-blank parchment and was now standing in the middle of the kitchen empty handed as Bill kissed Fleur goodbye.

As long as he thought before he spoke, Ron was not too worried he would divulge anything. Writing what he wanted to say down had not helped him. He had a general idea of what he wanted to say all set in his mind, and from there he would just answer Lee's questions as best he could. He had spent most of the night going over what he could and couldn't say. He was ready as he could be for the broadcast.

Bill held the Portkey out to Ron and soon they were spinning. Ron landed clumsily in a rather dusty old barn.

"Bill, Ron, good to see you," Lee greeted from the other side of the room. Fred sat to his left, and Remus and Kingsley were off to the side, leaving a space in the middle for Ron.

"Hi all," Bill said. "How are you, Remus?" he said, nodding his head slightly towards the man, who broke into a wide smile.

"I've been better, it's true," he sighed, still smiling, "but I've got something now that I haven't had in the past." He gave Ron a significant look, which made Ron feel immensely guilty. Remus was referring to his new family, who he had briefly walked out on. Ron wished he could return to Harry and Hermione as easily as Remus had returned to Tonks and his unborn child. "And you?" he said, switching his gaze back to Bill.

"Fleur's promised me a nice rare steak for tomorrow," Bill said, grinning, and Ron realized that there must be a full moon soon.

"Quit the chit-chat guys, we've got work to do," Lee broke in seriously. "Ron, come and sit down."

Ron approached the table and took his seat. Bill sat on the end, as he would not be participating in the broadcast.

"Hello, Ron," Fred said stiffly. "Glad to be back?"

Ron blanched. He had been so worried about not giving Harry away on _Potterwatch_, he hadn't thought about what he would say if anyone confronted him about abandoning Harry and Hermione.

"Fred…." Lee warned. Fred ignored him.

"Well?"

Ron sat up straight and looked Fred in the eye.

"No, I'm not glad to be back. I'm bloody furious with myself," he said coolly. Fred's eyes narrowed.

"Then why are you here?"

"Hey, you two, cut it out," Lee said sharply. "You can catch up later. Forget it for now while we record this, alright?"

Fred drew his eyes away from Ron, who sat back, relieved. He tried to forget what had just happened and assembled what he wanted to say in the front of his mind.

"Right," Lee said. "Now, Ron, for the code names... I'm 'River', Remus is 'Romulus', Fred is 'Rodent'–"

"'Rapier'!" Fred interrupted. "I told you I wanted to be 'Rapier'!"

"Fine," Lee grumbled, "Fred is Rapier. Kingsley is 'Royal'. Ron's name will be 'Rudolph'. All you have to do is speak into your wand when you're on air. The radio will pick up the signals. Are we ready?"

Fred gave Ron another accusatory look before agreeing. Ron nodded nervously, and _Potterwatch_ began.

"Hello, and welcome to another evening of _Potterwatch_," Lee stated loudly. "Today we have a very special guest who will be able to give us information about Harry Potter and his recent actions. Before we get to him, though, we have a few short announcements. As always, remember that You-Know-Who's name is still Tabooed. The Ministry has enough guinea pigs already, don't let yourself utter Moldy-short's real name and become one of them. We now turn to Royal for an update on the state of the Ministry itself."

He paused and they all looked expectantly at Kingsley.

"Well, River, the Ministry is still performing tests on muggleborns and subjecting them to merciless trials," Kingsley's said. "If you are unsure of your blood status, it would be best to leave the country with your family. Hogwarts is not a safe haven for muggleborn children anymore."

"And what can you tell us of the Ministry's leaders? Is Pius Thicknesse to blame for all this?"

"Pius Thicknesse is most likely being controlled by You-Know-Who," Kingsley said. "It's a matter of time before You-Know-Who comes out as openly heading the Ministry himself."

"What can Ministry employees do at this time? Lee asked.

"Ministry employees should keep their heads down," Kingsley said firmly. "Try to go unnoticed by any prominent Ministry officials. Continue your daily work, but be alert. If you think your situation is too dangerous for you or your family, leave the country or seek protection from the Order of the Phoenix."

"And how would someone go about that?"

"Try to get out some sort of distress signal. The Order will be on the lookout for anyone in trouble."

"Thank you, Royal," Lee said. "Now we turn to our special guest, Rudolph."

"Thank you, River," Ron said.

"Rudolph, you claim to have information on Harry Potter's recent activities."

"Yes," Ron said. "While I can't go into too much detail, I will assure listeners that Harry Potter is alive and well. He is hiding himself from You-Know-Who and the public but is actively involved in his mission to remove Voldemort from power. I am on the run myself and briefly met up with Potter just a few days ago."

"Did he have a message for the public?" Lee asked.

"Yes," Ron said. He would be lying, of course, making up a response, but Bill had told him Lee would ask and that it was important to give a hopeful answer. "He said that he will be out of sight for awhile, but to know that he will never stop working against You-Know-Who. His mission has begun successfully and he expects continued success over the next few months. He advises the public to keep hope and keep fighting, silently and actively, while keeping their families safe. Family and friends should continue to look out for each other during this frightening time."

"Well put, Rudolph, or should I say, Harry," Lee said. "Rudolph, would you be willing to confirm or squash some rumors regarding Harry Potter?"

"I'd love to," Ron said.

"Excellent. And so we turn to our rumor man, Rapier."

"Evening, River, Rudolph," Fred said. He kept his voice even, but he was avoiding Ron's eyes. "Just a few weeks ago there was a break-in at the Ministry," Fred began, and Ron felt a chill run down his arm, the arm that had been Splinched. "Listeners have reported rumors that the perpetrators were none other than Harry Potter himself and two accomplices. Can you confirm?"

"Yes," Ron said firmly. "Potter did indeed break into the Ministry, and was successful in his endeavors."

The others around the table looked slightly shocked at Ron's confirmation. He reminded himself that they were hearing all this for the first time, that they had no more idea what himself, Harry and Hermione had been up to than the people listening to the radio that night.

"Any more details on the escapade, Rudolph?"

"There are many, none of which I feel comfortable exposing on air," Ron said, closing the subject.

"Understood," Fred said. "And what of the accomplices?"

"I don't think–"

"Might their families wish to be assured of their safety?" Fred said, finally looking at Ron. "Because, as you have stated, Rudolph, ties between family and friends are the bonds that unite us and give us strength, to be cherished now, more than ever–"

"I will not expose their identities at this time," Ron said through gritted teeth. Fred was shaking. As he made to retort back, Lee seized his wand from his hand and flung it across the room so his voice could no longer be heard on the radio.

"Thank you, Rudolph, Rapier, for an uplifting account on Harry Potter," he practically yelled. Ron and Fred sat glaring at each other. "We now turn to Romulus for some unfortunate news."

"Thank you, River," Remus began. "I regret to inform you all of two deaths since our last broadcast…."

"Come on, you two," Ron suddenly heard from behind him. He knew it was Kingsley by the deep tone of the voice and by the rough hand on his shoulder, pulling him up. Kingsley dragged Ron and Fred from the table and to the opposite end of the barn. "You both nearly cost us the broadcast, not to mention our identities," he said, and his voice, though quiet, still retained its booming, almost threatening, quality. The rest of Remus' speech was lost to Ron as Kingsley placed himself between him and his brother. "We'll wait here until the broadcast is over," he said. "Get ahold of yourselves."

It only took a few more minutes to end the broadcast, during which Ron found himself unable to calm down. What did Fred know? He hadn't even given Ron a chance to explain. From stolen glances around Kingsley, Ron knew that his brother was just as, if not more, angry.

"What were you guys playing at?" Lee said angrily, as he shrunk down the radio and table and stored them away in his pocket. "This is risky enough without you muddling it up! You want to get caught by Snatchers?"

"How can you take him in, Bill?" Fred said, as if Lee had not spoken. "He walked out on them!"

The whole room seemed to gawk for a moment at the statement. Then Lee lost his angry look for one of dread and Remus stood up slowly from his chair, looking wary. Kingsley raised his hands slightly, as if Ron and Fred were about to start a physical fight. Bill's face hardened.

"I don't turn my family away, Fred Weasley, as you seem to be doing now," Bill said coldly. "Ron, let's go. Thanks for doing this, Lee. Bye, Kingsley, Remus."

"No problem mate," Lee said vaguely. Kingsley only nodded. Ron looked at Remus and was surprised to find the man's face not angry as he expected, but sympathetic and concerned. Ron gave him a tight smile of understanding before turning on the spot and Apparating back to Shell Cottage.


	3. The Deepest Depths of Despair

Over the next few weeks, there was a lot of sitting around.

A lot of thinking, a lot of guilt. The excited fire that had spread through his veins at the thought of doing something to help Harry had gone out in the space of a few short minutes, and now he was sitting on the edge of the rocks, looking out at the sea, and contemplating how stupid he had been to think that _Potterwatch_ could have gone smoothly.

A lot of thoughts he could not control.

The sea was calm. A few waves lapped up feebly at the rocks under him, as if mocking his inaction. He growled under his breath and looked out at the mountains in the distance. Were Harry and Hermione hidden there, shivering in the harsh December weather? Perhaps they were snuggling up together in front of one of Hermione's ingenious jars of fire?

No, of course they weren't.

Ron forced the image out of his mind. Such thoughts had pushed him away from Harry and Hermione, and he would give anything to be back with them now.

His hands seemed to move of their own accord as he pulled off his jacket and then his sweater, and then his shirt. The shirt didn't feel right anyway, he thought amusedly. Too large, but he hadn't cared when he'd dressed this morning... and then he saw the initials 'DD' on the tag.

His hands began to shake as he studied Harry's hand-me-down shirt in his hands. It was a simple shirt. It was blue and had a seam along the edge that unraveled easily as he fingered it. The collar was frayed, there were holes in the armpits.

The injustice of it all suddenly washed over Ron, as if one of the waves had actually reached his height and splashed him in the face. Nothing in Harry's life was fair. He couldn't even have a decent shirt, much less a decent best friend.

_Hermione's a decent best friend_, Ron thought immediately. Why had he been the one to leave? What was so wrong with him that he made a habit of abandoning his best friend in his darkest hour?

Instinctively, Ron reached for his jacket as a chilling breeze swept over the rocks. He was cold, colder than he had ever been while on the run. Good. It would teach him a lesson.

He threw the coat over the edge of the precipice, and it fell all the way to the water.

The days became a blur, and suddenly it had been a week, and then two. Ron spent most of his time sitting out on the rocks, staring out at the woods. Sometimes Bill came out with him, and they both sat. Sometimes Bill talked to him. Sometimes he asked him to come inside, and where did his coat go? Sometimes he told him news of the Order. But sometimes he was just quiet, and they sat together, looking out at the mountains.

Ron couldn't remember the last time he had said a word to either of them. His unresponsive nature had sparked arguments between Bill and Fleur, Ron knew. He could hear them from his room, when they thought he was asleep. They were both worried about him. Fleur wanted to send him to the Burrow so that his mother could talk some sense into him. Bill would not force Ron out of his house. He argued that Molly would be too overbearing, and that Arthur would be too stern.

Ron didn't care what his brother and sister in law thought, as long as they didn't send him away. They couldn't complain that he was a burden; when he wasn't out at the rocks, with just Harry's old t-shirt providing a tiny shred of warmth, he was in his room, lying on the wooden floor flat on his back. Since the _Potterwatch_ incident his bed had gone unslept in. Every comfort was eradicated, every necessity diminished in quality or amount. Even food, which he had used to shove into his mouth without pause no matter the mood or occasion, was now looked at with disgust. Anything Harry and Hermione couldn't have, anything they lacked–he lacked, too.

"Ron, it's Christmas eve."

Bill had adopted this way of talking to him, as if he didn't keep track of things, as if he wasn't counting each day spent away from Harry and Hermione. Christmas eve. How were Harry and Hermione spending Christmas eve?

"Mum's invited us to the Burrow, you too."

Ron inclined his head slightly to show that he was listening.

"Would you like to come?"

Ron slowly swiveled his head around until he was staring directly at Bill. His brother looked surprised that he had garnered this much attention from Ron.

"No," Ron said, his voice hoarse.

"Are you sure?" Bill asked in an already defeated sort of way. "Fred's come round a bit since–since _Potterwatch_. Lupin and Tonks will be there, and Kingsley–"

"No," Ron repeated. Carefully, he rose and walked over the rocks back towards the house. "You and Fleur go. I'll stay here."

His voice sounded harsh, unused.

"Ron–"

"Please, Bill."

Behind him, Bill got up as well, but did not approach his brother.

"I'm scared for you, Ron," he admitted. Ron did not turn to look at him. "It's been weeks. You need to accept it and move on."

Ron pulled at Harry's shirt, pulled the excess material around his body and squeezed. He wished Bill would stop talking. He had no idea what Ron had done. It wasn't something he could accept.

Ron heard Bill gasp behind him.

"Ron," he breathed. "You're so thin. This has to stop. What are you waiting for?"

He heard Bill begin walking towards him. He released the folds of Harry's shirt and ran into the house.

"_What are you waiting for?_" Bill bellowed up the stairs as Ron shut his door and laid down on the floor, breathing heavily. As he tried to control his shaking body, he heard Bill and Fleur arguing downstairs once again.

"This has gone on too long, Fleur, I don't know what to do," Bill was saying. A tear leaked out of Ron's eye: more guilt to add to his collection. An upset brother.

"Eet will geet better, love," Fleur said soothingly. "Eet's Chreestmas, 'e is bound to 'ave these feelings. We will stay here with 'im. We will make eet special for 'im."

Ron's body was beginning to adjust to the warm temperature of the house, now. He was calm enough to rise and walk to his door. He pulled it open, stood on the landing.

"Please go," he croaked. "Please just go, Bill."

Bill gazed into Ron's eyes with pained ones. Then he whispered something in Fleur's ear; Ron caught the words "can't force" and "come round." Fleur nodded sadly and looked up at Ron.

"I'll put out some hot soup for you," she said quickly. "Eet will be no trouble. Merry Christmas, Ron." She left her husband's side and bustled around the kitchen, pulling out all the necessary ingredients. Ron could not tell her to stop.

"Merry Christmas," he said instead, and returned to his room.

He was once again out on the rocks. Bill and Fleur were at the Burrow, and he was here alone. He could not bear to look out at the mountains and wonder. He put his head on his knees and closed his eyes and thought of nothing.

Eventually he was in a state in which he was not sure if he was sleeping or not. He was in a black abyss, a deep chasm, and Harry and Hermione and Bill and Fleur and Shell Cottage and the Burrow and his family and Voldemort and the horcruxes and Hogwarts and the world existed indefinitely, only fully detailed and understandable at the edge of the abyss. Down in the darkness he only saw faint outlines, insignificant imprints of things he had once considered of great importance.

It felt safe in the abyss. He would stay here, he thought, for awhile... just for awhile... but then even the outlines began to fade, and he slipped into total unconsciousness...

Ron opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that he was not on the floor like usual. He was in a bed, a comfortable bed.

"Oh, thank Merlin," someone said to his left.

It was Bill.

He was a mess. His hair, usually put back in his signature sleek ponytail, hung lank at the sides of his face, and there were dark circles under his eyes. When he saw Ron looking at him he gasped in shock and relief.

"Ron, you've been asleep for almost two days," he managed to say. "I almost–I almost got help... I almost called Mum... but I didn't, Ron, I didn't."

Ron did not say anything. His brother's concern was overwhelming, undeserved.

"You were passed out when we got back," he continued, now covering his face with his hands. "You were so close to the edge, Ron... please tell me you weren't... you weren't, were you? Don't lie to me."

He took his hands away to reveal the horrified and pleading eyes of a worried brother, and Ron knew he had to answer this question if no others.

"No," he whispered honestly. It was all his voice could muster. "I wasn't trying to do that."

Bill nodded, relieved.

"Fleur's going to make you some light soup," Bill said sternly, "and I am going to watch you eat it."

He didn't offer another option, so Ron did not respond. There was a long pause before Bill spoke again.

"Ron, I need you to confirm something... on Christmas eve, there was a struggle at Godric's Hollow... we don't know what happened, but some of the Order went to investigate and–and Tonks–Tonks found this–"

Bill's voice was shaky, disjointed, and very hesitant. He bent down and pulled something out from under his chair and handed it to Ron.

It was a broken wand, still connected ever so slightly by a string of magical core of a dark, red color.

"We thought it–it might be–"

"Harry's," Ron croaked.

"Yes."


	4. Trying Again

"Do you… do you know why they would have been in Godric's Hollow?" Bill was asking him, but Ron was staring worriedly at the wand–Harry's wand, broken in his hands. "Do you think they could have run into Death Eaters there? Bathilda Bagshot's house was completely blasted apart–"

"Bathilda Bagshot?" Ron said, snapping up his head.

"Yes, the author of–"

"_A History of Magic_**,** yeah," Ron finished. "I don't know why they would have been in her house."

Had Harry finally convinced Hermione to visit his parents' graves, or was there more to it? Maybe they and thought there might be a Horcrux there. But in Bathilda Bagshot's house? He wondered if they'd found anything. Before the house had been blasted to smithereens, that was.

"Well, I'll leave you to think about it and start up some soup."

"Okay," Ron said. Bill stood up and headed towards the door. "Hey, Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. And I'm really sorry."

Bill's face softened and he sighed. "It's okay, bud," he said, smiling tiredly, and left.

For the next few days, Ron did exactly as Bill and Fleur said. He ate when they wanted him to, he got out of bed when they said to, he showered and shaved when Bill told him he looked like death. It seemed almost back to normal–normal as it could be, at least, with the threat of Voldemort looming over their heads and the constant worry over what happened to Harry and Hermione.

Ron thought and thought, but he could not fathom why Harry and Hermione had believed that Bathilda's house was a good place to look for a Horcrux. Surely, Harry's own old house would have been a more likely place? His dreams were plagued by scenarios in which Harry and Hermione fought off countless Death Eaters in a run down shack. In each, Harry's wand got broken, and in each, they got away by some miracle. He kept waiting for the dream in which they died, but it never came. He took that as a good sign. Nonetheless, he could not supply any useful information regarding the incident to Bill or the Order.

More often than not, Ron found himself inspecting Harry's broken wand as if some clue would emerge from the wood at his touch. But nothing ever came.

"Hey, Bill? Do you think _Priori Incantatem_ would work on this?"

Bill arched his eyebrow and joined Ron at the kitchen table.

"Try it," he encouraged. Ron performed the spell. A yellow light issued from the wand, accompanied by a whisper of the spell: _Lumos_.

Ron's heart sank.

"He didn't even have a chance to fight," he whispered in a pained voice. Bill sighed and gave Ron's shoulder a squeeze, but it did nothing to quell the dread in Ron's stomach. "I wish I could do something," Ron said, his voice suddenly louder, touched with anger.

"We all wish that, Ron."

"Yes, but you _are_ doing something, Bill, even if the Order doesn't have any leads right now… I'm just stuck here–"

"You did _Potterwatch_," Bill tried. Ron snorted.

"Really, Bill?" His brother hung his head. "Now I know how Sirius felt. Oh Merlin, and for years he felt this way!" He stood up and began to pace the length of the kitchen. "I've got to do something," he decided, stopping abruptly. "I will. I'll leave tomorrow morning."

"Whoa, Ron, wait up!" Bill said, getting up and grabbing his brother's arm. "You can't just–"

"Sure I can!" Ron said, jerking his arm away. "Bill, I have to go back out there and help them. I just have to. I have to know… I have to find out…"

"Leave it to the Order. Stay here."

"Since when has 'leaving it to the Order' ever worked out for us?" Ron roared. "Who saved you when Greyback was attacking you, huh? The Order? No! It was Neville, of the bloody DA! Who followed after Harry all those years, after Sorcerer's Stones and bloody basilisks and spiders and Dementors? The Order wasn't there to help us then. We look out for each other. I'm not doing that now. What if Harry and Hermione are being attacked out there now? Who is going to save them? The Order? My arse."

"Ron!"

"Seriously Bill, I have the best chance of finding them. I know their style."

"Share that with the Order!"

"No. Dumbledore left this job to me, Harry and Hermione. Not the Order."

"Well, it's obviously too much for the three of you to handle!"

"It wouldn't be, if I hadn't bloody left!" Ron yelled, jamming himself back onto a seat. "It's all my fault," he said softly. "Maybe if I had been there–"

"Ron, stop," Bill said seriously. "You can't think like that. You'll go insane. It wasn't your fault. You probably would have gotten hurt too–"

"Who says they're hurt!"

"No one!" Bill said hastily. "I meant–you don't know what happened. Please, Ron, just leave it to the Order."

"I can't, Bill," Ron said. "I made a huge mistake and I've got to fix it."

Bill had fearful tears at the corners of his eyes, and Ron knew he had won this battle.

"What are you going to do?" Bill asked in hollow awe. "Where are you going to go?"

"Godric's Hollow, for a start," Ron said. "I have to see.. maybe… I just have to go there. Then–then, I don't know. I'll try to find them."

"Get someone to go with you," Bill said, wiping his face and looking at Ron intently. "Dad, or Charlie–"

"No," Ron said firmly. "I'll go alone."

"Please, Ron," Bill said desperately. "I'd go, but–"

"No, you are needed at Gringotts," Ron said.

"I would abandon that job any day to help you, Ron," Bill said heavily. "It's just–Fleur–"

"What?" said Ron sharply. "Is she okay?"

"Yes, it's just… she... she's pregnant."

"Oh," Ron said. "Oh! Congratulations!" Bill shook his head.

"Of all the times to have a baby… it's not good news, Ron."

"Of course it's good news!" Ron said. "Come on, Bill, a baby! Blimey, that's fantastic!"

"What if something happens to me or Fleur? I don't want my child to be the next Harry Potter, Ron."

Ron gripped Bill's hand.

"You-Know-Who can't get all the Weasleys in this war," Ron said. "There's just too many of us. Your baby will have a good childhood no matter who raises them," he finished quietly, his voice breaking. "I'll make sure of it," he promised in a whisper.

"Ron, be careful!" Bill said, launching himself on his brother.

"I will," Ron promised.

Ron was out of Shell Cottage by six in the morning the next day. He had said his goodbyes after dinner, and had risen alone and early. Now he was standing in Godric's Hollow, staring up at a stone bench that was transforming into a memorial before his eyes. He wondered if Harry and Hermione had seen this.

The neighborhood was quiet in the early morning. Ron walked with a Disillusionment charm and covered his tracks in the snow. Past this house, and another. He didn't look too long at each; he knew that Bathilda's house would be immediately recognizable.

He wondered if Harry's house was still here. Hadn't it been destroyed, that night? But had it been cleared away? Surely, if it had been sixteen years already.

This house, that house, another. This house, that house, another–wait!

He was sure immediately that this house was Bathilda's. It was old and run down, and the upstairs was completely blasted off. Singed objects littered the weedy lawn, and the open door swayed back and forth on one hinge. He approached cautiously. Walked inside and surveyed the downstairs. A sitting room. A kitchen. Nothing interesting there.

Very carefully, with his wand out, more to save himself if he fell than because he felt threatened, he ascended the rickety steps. His feet crunched under something delicate, and he looked down. Was that–was that a snakeskin? Ron had only see one once before, and this one was nowhere near as big as the basilisk's. He shivered and pushed the skin to the side with his foot.

At last he was at the top of the steps. Through fallen-in walls and broken windows, he could see the rest of the street.

Ron stayed on the top step and looked around. The first thing he saw was the blood: spots of it all over–on the floor in front of him, on the laundry basket in the far corner, on the window, or what was left of it... and all over the pile of rags in the corner. Ron looked closer and was horrified to spy a few flies circling the rags. It smelled rank.

Ron turned away and looked at the other side of the room. It was obvious something had happened here, but what? Who had been involved? How had the house gotten destroyed? It looked as if a thousand Dung Bombs had been set off at once.

He put his foot on the landing and applied a bit of pressure. The boards creaked under him ominously. He gave the room another sweep, looking for anything suspicious, and his eyes feel again on the dirty pile of rags. Why were there flies circling around it? Unless...

Ron felt all the color leaving his face. _Unless it was a body_, he thought. And as soon as he thought it, he knew that it was true. Slowly, carefully, he placed his foot on the landing, and then took a step. He walked towards the corner, nearing the horrible possibility that the body was one of them, Harry or Hermione... he forgot about the weak floor as he struggled to make his way across the room, around burnt chairs and stacks of books, pages flying away, and broken glass and _blood_. _It can't be one of them_, he told himself, _it just can't–_

But tears were streaming down his face anyway because there was a part of him that knew that it very well could be either of them, or both of them. And as he quickened his pace the boards creaked more and he ignored them, but his foot fell through and he tripped over an overturned chair and reached his hands out to break his fall and they caught the pile of rags–the _body_–and he felt himself falling through the ceiling, still clutching the body and its face was in his face all he could realize in the confusion of falling was that the person's mouth was twisted in a horrible, impossible way and there was a gaping hole in the neck that was filled with dried blood and the body felt _empty_–and as his feet touched ground and his body crumpled beneath him his grip tightened instinctively, and then he felt a short flash of pain and everything went black.

It was the smell that woke him. That completely horrid smell that was even more intense than he remembered. He opened his eyes and saw above him the sky; the ceiling had completely fallen through. He reached up a hand to rub his eyes but stopped in mid action as he realized that his hands were clutching something, something soft. He raised his head.

The body was lying across his chest.

In a horrified haste, Ron threw it off him with a shriek and scrambled away, curling himself up in a ball and shaking in terror. He felt it still on his hands and he rubbed them against the ground, scratching them and dirtying them, just trying to rid himself of the remains of the body.

_You have to go look at it_, a voice inside him was saying. _You have to. You know why. Just do it. _

He turned. The body was only feet away.

He crawled over and forced himself to inspect it. The face was so gouged that he had to look at it for a few minutes before he confirmed it was not Harry or Hermione.

It was a woman's body, that he could tell from the chest. But it was small, shorter than Hermione was, Ron was sure, and the hair was gray and wispy. The face was that of an old woman, though very deformed.

It was Bathilda Bagshot.

Ron choked back a sob as he realized the truth: that this woman had been killed in her own home, probably for something she had nothing to do with. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now she was dead. Dead and gone and rotting away in her own destroyed home. And that wound in her neck–the head was nearly severed. What spell had done _that_?

Without really knowing what was driving him to do it, nor why he continued once he realized his actions, Ron began constructing a coffin out of materials in the room–the chairs, the table, the books. His wand seemed to wave of its own accord as he transfigured the various materials into a smooth, dark wood. When he was finished he stood over Bathilda and did his best to clean her up. He siphoned off the dried blood, closed the eyelids with a flick of his wand, and conjured up a bouquet of flowers and set it on her chest. Then he levitated her into the coffin, made sure no flies had made it in with her, and sealed the thing shut.

Again, without questioning himself, he found himself casting a disillusionment charm on the coffin, found himself walking out of the house and back towards the memorial at the end of the neighborhood. There was a church back there, he was sure there had been... maybe there was a graveyard there, too.

There must be. That's why Harry had wanted to come to Godric's Hollow. To see his parents' graves.

He found the graveyard and an empty spot. He laid the coffin down and removed a large part of the ground with his wand, then lowered the coffin into it. The dirt was put back in and then Ron found himself transfiguring a rock into a tombstone and carving shaky letters onto it with his wand:

_Bathilda Bagshot_

_Devoted Historian_

_Died: 1997_

_Thank you_

He didn't know what else to put. Maybe people would see it and add to it. He thanked her because she parted life by Voldemort's power, be it directly or indirectly, and he knew there was a very real possibility that the loss of her life may have helped to spare Harry and Hermione's.

When he was done he sat in front of it, arms hugging his knees. He sat for a long time.

It could have been a few minutes, but it could have been an hour, when Ron finally got up. He turned his back on the grave and looked out into the street. He did not look at Bathilda's house. He had seen for himself that there was no sign of Harry and Hermione there.

His eyes flew up the street and he blanched at the sight of another destroyed house, right at the end of the lane. He hadn't noticed it before, when he had been so intent on finding Bathilda's. This must be Harry's house.

He began to run. He sprinted up the street, not bothering to get rid of his prints in the snow, not bothering to keep his breathing quiet. He reached the fence and was amazed to see the words encrypted on it.

He pushed open the gate. He saw the weeds growing up past his waist, saw the stillness of the house and felt the softness of the air and knew that no one had been here since that night. No one had entered, not since their bodies had been removed. It had been left as it was, as a memorial, just like the statue down the street. But he pushed up the path anyway, right up to the front door.

He stopped in front of it, just stared at it. How had no one ever shown this to Harry? How had he gone his whole life without seeing this place, or his parents' graves–seeing where it had all started, and where it had all ended? The door's paint was peeling, but the tarnished brass door knocker in the shape of a lion's head conveyed a sense of strength despite the ruin Ron knew he would find inside. He raised his hand and brought it back, and forth, away from the door and onto it, as if asking for permission to enter, and it sent a loud 'rap' echoing throughout the silent neighborhood. He closed his fist around the doorknob and pushed it open.

He was amazed. The house had not been touched for decades. Most of it, at least the downstairs, not even by Voldemort. A thick layer of dust covered all the surfaces, but Ron saw, with a jolt of his heart, that this would have been a brilliant place to grow up in.

He entered the sitting room first. A large bay window was letting sunlight stream through into the room. There were a few couches and a coffee table in the middle of the room, perfectly placed to be bathed in sunlight. On the floor lay a small broom, too small–a toy broom. For a little kid. Casually thrown aside, like the child was planning to use it again in a few hours, perhaps the next day.

Ron collapsed next to the broom and stared at it. Harry's first broom. He dared not touch it, but just stared his fill like he had stared at Bathilda Bagshot's grave. He bent his head and looked closer, and saw some smudges on the handle. Chocolate?

Ron was barely aware of the tears as they left his eyes and travelled down his cheeks. It did not matter. What mattered was that Harry had had this life taken away from him in the most ruthless way possible: his parents had been snatched from him in a matter of seconds.

Ron stood up and his eyes found the other side of the room. A beautiful fireplace was wedged into the wall, complete with a large mantle and pictures. Pictures! He quickly walked over and looked into the frames. James and Lily on their graduation. James with his parents. Lily and James sharing a wedding kiss. James and Sirius at the reception, laughing at a joke, or perhaps at Remus, who was in the background, shaking his head. Lily, pregnant, sticking out to the moon with a nearly ready Harry in her stomach. James, Lily, and Harry, sitting on the couch of this very room. Sirius tossing Harry up and down, Lily looking on reproachfully from a corner.

Ron felt no guilt as he removed each picture from the mantle, placed a protection charm on it, and stuck it in his bag. While he had not touched the broom, to respect its place in this house, stilled by time, Harry deserved those pictures. Ron knew he would cherish them, especially the one of him and Sirius.

Ron came back out into the hall.

He'd heard that this was where James had been killed. Of course, there would be no evidence, would there? Even so, Ron tread carefully over the spot as he went towards the stairs, thinking of the man he had never met but who had given his life for his family.

As he had in Bathlida's house, Ron walked carefully, for he had no idea how much the blast had weakened the house. He imagined that some sort of charm had been put on the place to keep it impervious of weather, for otherwise it would surely be destroyed, with half of it lacking a roof. When he reached the landing he stopped and stared into the hall before him. There were four doors; two on either side of the hall. The one to his right said "Harry's room". Ron gulped and turned his head away; he would leave that one for last. He went to the one on his immediate left.

It was a guest room. Nothing interesting there. The next was a bathroom. That left Harry's parents' room.

He walked in, feeling the same sense that he had while studying the broom: that he was encroaching on someone else's privacy. Yet, as if he owed it to Harry, he explored with his eyes. The bed was large and spacious, the covers still rustled from the occupants' last night's rest. A back window hung open, letting through a chilly breeze. But what captivated Ron was the desk.

It was situated across from the bed, the chair pulled out and papers all over the surface. Ron looked closer and saw that it was a mix of Lily and James' papers: an old Auror report James never finished, a note from Dumbledore with a wish of good luck under the Fidelius charm, a grocery list, an unfinished letter to Petunia Dursley. Ron bent in even closer to read this one:

_Dear Tuney,_

_It saddens me that we have not spoken in a very long time. I am writing because my family is in danger and if the worst happens, I do not want to leave this world without us being on better terms. I am sorry that my magic ever came between us. I often wish, when I think of you, that we could go back to when we were little, before I went off to Hogwarts and before Severus taught me about magic. You were the perfect big sister, then, Tuney, and I hope we can make amends._

_Shortly after graduating Hogwarts, I entered into a Healer apprenticeship. A Healer is like a doctor. My husband, James Potter, went into the Auror program. An Auror is a dark wizard catcher, kind of like a cross between a police man and a secret agent. The wizarding world is going through a tough time right now, and there is much work to be done in James' department. It is a very dangerous job. _

_We married two years ago. I must confess I was disappointed not to see you at the wedding. Have you found a man and started a family? _

_As I said, my family is in danger. It is not because of James' job, but something else I cannot put into a letter. I fear that I will never see you again. Please, Tuney, can we start anew? I would really like to hear from you. _

_Love, Lily_

Ron heaved a deep sigh and picked up the letter. He put it in his bag with the pictures, then turned to leave the room.

Only Harry's room left.

His heart beating rather fast, Ron pushed open Harry's door.

His heart broke when he saw the state of it. The only room affected by the curse, it was completely blasted apart. The remains of a crib were piled in a corner, a changing table lay overturned in the middle of the floor, and an entire side of the wall was missing, gone, blasted away by the explosion. A large footprint took up a sizable portion of the floor, and Ron stared at if for awhile before remembering that it had been Hagrid who had came to get Harry that night. What had Hagrid felt, coming into this room? Had Lily still been there, when he came in? Had Harry been sleeping? Crying? In pain? Maybe this was why Harry had never been brought here. Those who had seen it had deemed it too painful.

Ron took a last look at the room and then returned to the downstairs and left the house. He went back up the walkway, back to the fence, with all the messages carved in. Suddenly he was seized with the urge to add one himself. He raised his wand and found an open spot a little down the fence.

_You have been the best friend I could ever ask for. I will never let you down again._


	5. A Bloody Risky Idea

"Oh, bugger," Ron snarled, opening his eyes. "Should've known, with those clouds..."

He grudgingly got out of his sleeping bag, which was slowly becoming soaked with the rain. The lack of a tent was starting to pose a problem. He dragged his sleeping bag over to a leafier tree that would block some of the rain. But thunder continued to boom overhead and the tree could not sheild him from all of the rain. He fumbled in his bag and pulled out an extra blanket. Maybe he could transfigure it into a tarp of some kind, which would shield him from the rain.

Ron sat there, getting wetter and wetter, and colder and colder, attempting to change the material of the blanket, but all he achieved was poking a hole in the middle of it in his frustration. Even so, he hung the blanket up on some branches and set his sleeping bag under it. It didn't keep out all the rain, but it did improve his situation significantly.

Ron huddled up in his sleeping bag and tried to pretend that he was in his four-poster at Hogwarts. What he wouldn't do to be at Hogwarts, now... the troubles of every day school life were nothing compared to a full blown out war. He'd even take another year with Umbridge and another trip down the Chamber of Secrets over this–this hopeless existence, where he was cut off from everyone, with so little to go on and where basic survival was distracting him from his main goal: to find Harry and Hermione.

He was doing really terribly, he allowed himself to admit. Three days he had been traipsing around the country, looking for any trace of them... all the old forests they had stayed in (that he could remember), all the places Harry had ever talked about as a possible Horcrux location (except for Hogwarts), the outskirts of Hogsmeade. But he had found neither Harry and Hermione, nor any traces of Horcruxes, in any of those places. They must be in some new place, he reasoned, another forest Hermione had camped in with her parents. But even if he went there, he'd never be able to find them. They were too well protected.

With this depressed thought, Ron finally settled into a unsettling sleep.

"Arghh!"

Ron sat bolt upright, banging his head against the tree he had slept under, and shook his head violently. He had been doused with freezing water and had awoken quite suddenly. He looked up. The blanket he had been using as a make-shift shelter had fallen half-way off the branches, and all the water that had collected on top of it had just fallen on Ron.

"Should've just slept out in the clearing," Ron grumbled, standing up as he started to shiver violently. "Would've been drier by this time."

Indeed, the rain had stopped during the night. Ron retreived his rucksack from the bottom of his sleeping bag. Fortunately it was only a little damp, so he pulled out some dry clothes and depositited the soaked ones in a pile on the ground.

"_Accio_ _blanket_," he said, and the blanket came soaring down from the trees. He put it in the pile of wet clothes. "Wish I could remember the drying spell," he grumbled. "Hermione would know... dammit, why'd I never pay attention in school? What, I'm only good for summoning charms now?"

He shook his head and pulled an apple from his bag. It wasn't much, but it didn't bother him. He still wasn't used to eating large portions of food after practically starving himself for weeks.

Ron shivered. He didn't like to think about those few weeks. It reminded him how close he had been to death–how close all three of them had been to death. And if they had, all three of them, died, the secret would have died too. No one would know Voldemort's secret. It was up to the three of them to go after the Horcruxes.

And this was why it was so important to stay alive. Even if he wasn't making progress, even if he knew he would never find Harry and Hermione, no matter how hard he tried, how far he looked–he must stay alive and hidden. Because if something did happen to them, it was all up to him.

The thought was so frightening and repulsive that he gagged on his apple and had half a mind to throw the rest of it in the dirt. But he didn't. He needed the strength, even the limited strength from the small piece of fruit. He imagined what it would be like killing Voldemort. How would he ever manage that, if he had to? How would Harry? How did Harry live with the knowledge that he would have to kill that man–no, that _being_–someday? He had known for years. Years he had been weighed down with the knowledge. And still, he was Harry. He hadn't broke, he hadn't cracked. He had gotten through sixth year in smiles, joined in on the romantics. He had been calm all summer, enjoyed Bill and Fleur's wedding, had kept his cool even when wearing the Horcrux.

No, it had been Ron that had cracked. Ron, who had suffered far less than Harry, who was there fighting by choice, not because he had to... there was no stupid Prophecy connecting Ron to the war, and he had allowed the stress of it to get to him anyway. He didn't have to kill Voldemort. He didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Harry did. Ron might share some of that weight, but in the end, it would come down to Harry and Voldemort.

But if Harry died... Ron had never before considered what would happen. Harry was so resilient, so good at getting out of bad situations, that Ron had never allowed himself to consider what would have happened if something had gone drastically wrong during their 'adventures'. What if Harry had died in the last chamber in first year? What if he had died in the Chamber of Secrets, trying to bring back Ginny? What if he hadn't been able to produce a Patronus that night in third year? What if Voldemort had killed him in the graveyard, just like he had Cedric? What if Harry hadn't been able to fight Voldemort's possession at the Ministry? What if Harry had been the one to drink the poison instead of Dumbledore, and hadn't been able to defend himself that night last June?

Harry could have died any one of those times, and many more. And where would they all be now?

_Probably all dead, too, _Ron thought depressedly.

And now... if Harry was dead, now...

_No. He's not. You went to Godric's Hollow, you saw. They got away. They're fine. They're fine._

He repeated these thoughts over and over, trying to calm himself down. The thought of being alone in the fight, being alone in the secret, was overwhelming and terrifying.

_They're fine, you just can't find them. They're not supposed to be found. They don't know you're looking for them. They probably think you're back at the Burrow, having a grand old time and wolfing down Mum's cooking. _

Ron put his head on his knees and hissed in anger. _Well what am I supposed to do without them? Just sit here and get rained on every night? I'm useless! _

He rocked back and forth as a fierce mental battle raged inside his head.

_I'll keep looking. I'll look harder. Think, Ron, think–Hermione must only know a handful of places..._

_Even if you do end up near them, you won't be able to see them. And they won't be able to see you. You're both using the same protective spells. Dimwit._

_I'll lower my defenses. Maybe they'll notice me._

_Maybe some Snatchers will notice you. You've already been through this._

_I was–distraught–then. I'll be careful._

_You're giving yourself false hope._

_At least it's hope of some kind! A right lot of help you are._

_Maybe there's another way to help them out._

_I already looked at all the places Harry said–_

_Except Hogwarts... _

Ron stopped rocking and sat back with a deep sigh. Would he dare to break into Hogwarts?

The pile of wet clothes forgotten, Ron sat up against the tree and thought. Could he break into Hogwarts? Snoop around, look for a Horcrux? Immediately he thought of the passageway through the one eyed witch's hump that led to Honeydukes. That would work. But how to disguise himself? Would a Disillusionment charm be good enough?

He wondered what kinds of protections were on the castle. Did anyone know about the passageway? Would he even be able to get into Honeydukes?

But what if he did get caught, and the Disillusionment charm forced off of him? He only knew how to make a basic one. He would need Polyjuice Potion, which he didn't have... but even that wouldn't be good enough, if it wore off in an hour. He needed a better disguise, a _permanent_ disguise.

"Bill," Ron said, rapping on the door of Shell Cottage. "Bill, it's Ron. I've come from Godric's Hollow and the last spell Harry's wand performed was _Lumos_."

The door opened and Bill pulled him inside.

"What'd you find?" he asked.

"Nothing," Ron said. "I need a disguise. Something better than Polyjuice Potion. Something that lasts longer." He walked past Bill into the kitchen, dropping his bag on a chair and starting to pace back and forth. Bill closed the door and narrowed his eyes.

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing. I'm just being safe."

"So you haven't found them yet?"

"No. But I'm going to stop looking. It's useless. I've got other plans."

"Other plans?" Bill echoed.

"Yes. Can you help me?"

"Ron, you know I would–"

"No, I don't need you to come with me. I need you to teach me to disguise myself. There must be a way, a way to transfigure my face, or something...?"

"Of course there is," Bill said. "You haven't learned Glamour charms yet?"

"No," Ron said. "Must be seventh year stuff."

"Er, yes, I suppose you're right," Bill said. "But... why do you need to disguise yourself?"

"Seems like a good idea," Ron said. "I'm supposed to be in bed with Spattergroit, remember?"

"Yeah," Bill said. "Okay. Let's get to a mirror."

Bill spent the next hour teaching Ron the differnt kinds of Glamour charms he could use, and how to cast them. They experimented with a variety of faces for Ron, until he had mastered applying and removing the charms.

"And these are permanent?"

"Until you cancel them," Bill said.

"Brilliant. Thanks, Bill." He removed the charms and pocketed his wand. "Is Fleur home?"

"No, she's visiting her parents."

"Okay. Don't tell her I stopped by, then."

"You're going already? You're not going to stay, at least... at least a few days?"

"I have to go," Ron said flatly. "Thanks for the tips, Bill."

He hugged his brother and hurried out of the house, hearing Bill's anxious words as he shut the door:

"But what are you going to do? Where are you going?"

Ron disapparated from Shell Cottage straight into the Forest of Dean. He pulled out the little muggle shaving kit his father had given him for his birthday one year, and, peering into the mirror, began applying Glamour charms like Bill had taught him.

He changed every single feature on his face, taking no chances. His eyes became brown, his hair a sleek black, his nose small and pointed. His freckles vanished, from his arms as well. He was disguising himself as a different student.

The idea had come to him as he had been experimenting with Bill in front of the mirror. How would he look with Harry's messy hair? With Draco Malfoy's cool grey eyes? The more of his classmates he imagined, his wand morphed his face into a combination of all of them–a typical Hogwarts student.

It was perfect. Infiltrate Hogwarts as a student, and hopefully no one would pay much attention to him. He could stroll about as he wanted, and everyone would assume they didn't know him, that he was a new student, maybe–

A new student. He could do better than hope no one would become suspicious. He could be a new student. He could _attend_ Hogwarts as a new student.

The idea sent chills down his back.

How would even go about it? Maybe a simple letter would do, explaining his situation. He could pretend he was from abroad, America, maybe. He could cast a Glamour charm on his voice, give himself an accent. He had been homeschooled, but his parents had been killed recently... in a Potions accident. He needed to finish up his schooling and take the proper examinations. But would they accept him, in the middle of a war?

Only one way to find out. Ron made a few more alterations to his appearance, and pulled parchment and quill from his bag.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

No, no, Snape would recognize his handwriting. Ron sighed and tried again in the fancy script his Aunt Muriel had insisted on teaching him and his siblings years and years ago. It took a few tries to get used to, but soon Ron had a short letter done, complete with a fake story and a fake name:

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_My name is Robert Brown and I have very recently been emancipated after the death of my parents in a brewing accident. I have lived and been homeschooled in America all my life, but now I am seeking a magical school to enroll in to finish up my magical education and take the proper examinations. I am seventeen and I believe what you would consider a seventh year._

_I am not sure what your policy is regarding trasnfer students but I would be so grateful if you considered admitting me for the new term. I am currently residing at the Leaky Cauldron in London and I await your reply. _

_Robert Brown_

He had chosen the name Robert because shortened it sounded much like his actual name, and if the plan worked out, he wanted ro minimize the number of times he failed to respond to people talking to him. As for the last name, he chose something common; the less conspicous, the better.

He made it to Diagon Alley with no problem. He went to Eeylop's and sent the letter with no problem. He even reserved a room with no problem, but once he was inside he spun in a circle and put up all the wards and privacy charms he knew. He still felt nervous, so he peered in the mirror on the wall, trying to find any trace of his old appearance but he could not. Too worried to venture downstairs to eat dinner, Ron settled into bed early and had a fretful night's sleep.

He woke up to a sharp tapping on the window.

"What? Already?" he murmured, glancing out and seeing an owl there. He opened the window and the thing flew in and perched on his shoulder. "What, my privacy charms don't work on you?" he said quietly. "Better keep that in mind." He took the letter and sent the bird out the window again.

_Dear Mr. Brown,_

_Hogwarts is willing to accept you as a transfer student. You may meet Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, at the gates at seven o'clock sharp this Sunday night. Term begins Monday. A booklist is included. _

_Professor Severus T. Snape_

Ron's heart began to race, and he took a long, steady breath to calm himself. It had worked. He took a glance at the booklist and sighed; he barely had any money left after acquiring the room at the Leaky Cauldron. He knew he had one set of robes in his bag, but they had the Gryffindor crest on them. Surely he would have to get re-sorted. But he could spell that off, somehow... He didn't have any schoolbooks, and he didn't plan on buying any. He wasn't going back to Hogwarts to study, that was for sure. As for the other things–cauldron, potions ingredients... there were always spares in the classroom. He would have to buy some more parchment and quills, maybe. But he could get by without anything else.

Nevertheless, he would have to go into Diagon Alley today, for at least the parchment. It would also give him a chance to get used to his new disguise around people.

He took another look in the mirror, just to make sure, grabbed the few galleons he had left, and left the Leaky Cauldron for the day.

He hadn't noticed it the night before in his worried haste to safely get to the Leaky Cauldron, but Diagon Alley was a terrible sight. It looked more like Knockturn Alley than Ron felt comfortable with, every other store boarded up, litter everywhere on the street, suspicious people in long, black cloaks walking slowly past. The only place in the alley that seemed unaffected was Fred and George's shop. Ron suddenly understood why their mother had been so worried for them; in such a low spirited place it wasn't hard to imagine Weasley's Wizard Wheezes boarded up and empty as well. But the shop was bright and exciting still, and Ron even saw a healthy number of customers milling about it. He spied Fred inside at the cashier and suddenly had an urge to go in, to say something, he didn't know what, to him, but it wouldn't be a good idea to risk his disguise. Instead, he continued past to the rest of the alley.

After securing what he hoped was a term's worth of parchment, Ron headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. Past Florean Fortescue's ice cream Parlour, past Quality Quidditch Supplies, past Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, past Madam Malkins'. Past Magical Menagerie, past Ollivander's...

He stopped in front of the old wand shop. The windows were boarded up, but the door was propped open, creaking in the breeze. It wouldn't hurt to have a back-up wand...

Ron continued down the alley, entered Flourish and Blotts, and hid himself behind a tall bookshelf. There, he cast a disillusionment charm on himself and slowly exited the shop. Then, watching carefully the people around him, shuffled back into Ollivander's, just barey having to push the door open. The bell tinkled just as it had whenever Ron had entered before with his family, only now it was an eerie sort of sound, as if it knew Ollivander was not going to come answer it.

How to start? When he had gotten his own wand the summer before third year, Ollivander had picked boxes off the shelves at random, it seemed, and had had him try them out. It had taken him just six tries. Harry had said it had taken him nearly a hundred.

He sighed and picked one out at random from the nearest shelf. Immediately he let out a small cry of pain and dropped it to the ground; the box had burned his hands!

Suddenly, a grey mist rose out of the box, the wand itself rolling out across the floor, and encircled Ron, swirling faster and faster until he was sure he was about to choke.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the mist vanished, the wand rolled back into the box, and the box flew back up into his hands, no longer burning.

Ron stared at the thing. What had just happened? Was it because he wasn't Ollivander? Maybe the man had anticipated his eviction, and had set up wards to prevent Death Eaters from aquiring the wands. And the smoke had sensed that Ron was no Death Eater, certainly... Relieved, Ron carefully picked the wand up out of the box. Nothing happened. He waved it. Nothing. Shrugging, he returned it to the shelf.

He went down a few rows and picked one higher up, in a different colored box. He touched the box with a finger, just in case, but the first test seemed to have been enough for the entire shop, and it did not burn him. So he pulled this one down and waved it around a little bit. Still nothing.

Wand after wand after wand yeilded nothing. Getting frustrated, he tried casting a spell with the tenth one, but it was weak. Ron ventured to the other side of the room.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing–wait!

This one felt different–not as awkward as the others. It gave him a small tickling sensation in his hand, as if encouraging him to try out a spell.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," he whispered, and the wand's box rose obediently up into the air. Ron smiled. "_Accio!_" The vase of dried up flowers on the desk came floating calmly over to him. "Silencio!" he said, pointing his wand on the vase, then dropped it on the ground. The thing smashed to a million pieces without making a sound. "_Reparo_," he said, and the thing flew back together. He placed the vase and flowers (minus the water) back on the desk and pocketed the new wand. "Maybe another one," he mused, and continued down the rows.

Thirty more wands later, he had found two more back-ups. Neither were as good as the first one he had found, but they had their merits. Already he could tell that the shorter one would be useful for transfiguration, and the longest good for simple charms. He stored all three in his pocket, returned all the boxes back to the shelves, and left the store. He felt slightly guilty without leaving payment, but he reasoned that if he left anything there, Death Eaters would find it, anyway. He'd pay Ollivander back when this was all over. If he survived...

He ducked into another shop and removed the disillusionment charm the first chance he got. Then he returned to the Leaky Cauldron and ordered lunch, choosing the most private room he could find. When he was in his room again he laid all four of his wands out on the ground and experimented with them. His previous speculations had been correct, and he tested the limits of each back up wand, comparing their attributes to his primary wand. He quickly set up a rank, and familiarized himself with the feel and weight of each wand until he could tell which one was in his hand with his eyes closed. Finally, he found places for each wand about his person. The primary one would go where it always went, in his right robe pocket made especially for wands. The second would go on his left forearm, in a holster that he made from some material from the raggedy blanket in his bag. The last two he attached to each of his calves, in similar holsters. Then he practiced drawing from each location. When he was fully satisfied with his competence in drawing each wand, he went downstairs for a quick dinner and went to bed early again.

Ron woke up with an excited feeling in his gut. Today was the day. Today was Sunday; he was due to meet McGonagall at seven. He spent the day practicing with all four wands again, checking the clock every twenty minutes. Finally, it was time to check out of the Leaky Cauldron. He did so in a rushed, preoccupied way, and then ran out of the street and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

He was early, but only by ten minutes. From this vantage point he could see part of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's cabin, the lake, and Hogwarts, off in the distance. He saw movement in Hagrid's cabin and wished he could go in and talk to the half-giant. But no, he would refrain. He had to act like he had never been here, he had to act like he didn't know anybody.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Brown."

Ron whipped around and found himself face to face with Professor McGonagall. He frowned; she looked stressed. Her hair, usually pristinely held up in a strict bun, was falling out in little wisps, and her face housed more wrinkles than he remembered.

"Yes," he said, reorganizing his features. "You must be Professor McGonagall."

"Indeed," she said, looking him over, brow furrowed. She waved her wand and the gate opened. "Headmaster Snape informed me of your situation," she said, gesturing for Ron to follow her up to the castle. "I am sorry to hear about your parents."

"Er–thanks," Ron said in an offhand voice. He mentally slapped himself for being caught off guard. He had a story he had to stick to, and he was already making mistakes!

Suddenly returning to Hogwarts seemed like a very stupid idea. But they were already half way to the castle, and if he turned back now he'd never be able to get back in...

_I can do this, _he told himself_. I've got to find the Horcrux. Harry needs me to do this._

"You will be Sorted at dinner. There are four houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin..."

She went on to give him very much the same speech she gave the first years, but Ron didn't listen very hard; he was thinking about the Sorting itself. Would he get put back in Gryffindor? It didn't strike him as a particularly strategic place to be. Voldemort wouldn't have hidden a Horcrux anywhere having to do with Gryffindor, and he was more likely to mess up his story if he was around people he knew. No, it would be much more advantageous to be in Slytherin. To work from the inside...

"You are required to take at least five classes as a seventh year," Professor McGonagall was saying now. "I'm sure Professor Snape provided you with a list. Have you thought about which ones you wish to take?"

"Yes," Ron said. "Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures."

"Herbology, but not Potions?" Professor McGonagall asked, her eyebrow raised.

"I've already through the curriculum with Potions," Ron said, casting his eyes down, hoping she would pick up on his body language and not question him further. The truth was, Potions was his worst subject and he didn't want to waste time on it when his real agenda was to look for the Horcrux. But if he could use his story to his advantage, pretend he was already a adept at potions because his parents had been...

"Oh, of course," she said quickly, and Ron looked up again. "Well, that can be easily arranged. I will draw up a schedule for you."

"Thank you."

"Now, into the Great Hall. Follow me up to the front, and Professor Snape will introduce you to the school."

Ron nodded and Professor McGonagall pushed open the doors. All at once he saw what he was getting himself into: there would be so many people to deceive. And there, on the right, at the Slytherin table... they would be the ones he would have to deceive with the utmost skill. If he messed up around them, there was no telling what the consequences would be.

"Follow me," Professor McGonagall reminded him, and he stepped into the hall. And Bill's words, the answer to which he had not been able to admit to his brother's face, echoed in his ears: _But what are you going to do? Where are you going?_

He was continuing Harry's mission. He was going back to Hogwarts.


	6. A Favor from the Sorting Hat

_Bloody hell!_

Ron nearly said the words out loud, but caught himself just in time. He hadn't been expecting Hogwarts to be nearly as cheery and welcoming as it had been his first few years, but he had been hoping for better than what he saw now. There were no suspended candles above the tables, no ghosts chattering away amiably with the students, and certainly no Dumbledore sitting serenely atop the head table. Instead, the room was cast in threatening shadows that danced mockingly on the walls, which held medieval looking torches Ron had never seen in the castle in his life. Snape sat in the headmaster's chair, which was much too regal and respected for him, in Ron's point of view. It took a great deal of self control for Ron not to scream at the man in rage for his betrayal. Instead, he inspected the students as he followed McGonagall up between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables.

The students looked absolutely horrible! Bruises and scratches covered many of the older years' faces, and the younger years stared up at him in a fear that looked possibly perpetual. The poor first years! Even if the war ever ended, Hogwarts would probably never be a sanctuary for them like it had been for Ron. The worst affected were the Gryffindors–_no surprise there, _Ron thought–and then the Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws. The Slytherins, in contrast, looked better kept that Ron remembered, or perhaps they just impressed compared to the rest of the student body. Nevertheless, he was up and sitting on the little stool McGonagall had pulled from nowhere before he could get a really good look at everyone. That was good, he decided, for he had a feeling his sister would be one of the more beat up ones and he didn't want to catch her eye.

"Hogwarts welcomes Mr. Robert Brown as a transfer student," a slow, drawling voice said from behind him, and Ron flinched. "Let the Sorting ceremony begin."

McGonagall pulled out the Sorting Hat and placed it on Ron's head.

_No song?_ Ron thought. He had been hopeful he would have a little more time before the actual Sorting; now that he was staring out at the students he wasn't sure he wanted to be in Slytherin. It was obviously the Slytherins giving the other students all those wounds. Would he be expected to do that, too? He had wanted to fly under the radar here, but that didn't seem possible; there were two obvious sides sitting in front of him. The majority was the victimized side, but the power rested with only one slimy house.

_Oh! Such complicated thoughts! _an old, familiar voice said. _How interesting to see you again, Ronald Weasley._

_Good to see you, too, I guess, _Ron thought back._ But last time I hardly got a chance to talk to you._

_Yes, well, an old hat can be bit rash in its decisions, _the Hat responded._ It was getting near the end of the line, and you were a large class..._ Ron felt a chill go down his back. _Ah, so I am not the only one guilty of a rash decision. You have changed, Ronald Weasley, and not all for the better..._

_I know, _Ron thought miserably. _I was a lousy git._

_Unfortunately, yes,_ the Hat agreed.

_I guess it's too much to ask for a favor, then, _Ron thought.

_I said you had changed not all for the better, not you had changed for the worst. I see things here I only had an inkling of last time. You have matured._

The students were getting restless; they shifted in their seats and a few whispered to each other. McGonagall stood still as ever next to him. He wished she wasn't staring so intently. He closed his eyes.

_Oh, let them whisper, let them wonder, _the Hat said. _You would not be the first student to have a long Sorting. Why, Genevieve Smythe in '76 took nearly thirty minutes! Most of the students and half the Professors had retired before I had made my decision. Now, what is your favor?_

_That I be placed in Slytherin._

_A favor indeed. Only two other students have asked such favors._

_Really? Who? _

_Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. _

Ron actually groaned aloud.

_Mr. Potter was the easier of the two. I could sense he would do well in Slytherin, but he was adamant that it was not for him. He kept rambling on about you, Ronald Weasley, telling him all the bad wizards went there. It was only years and years afterward that I realized I had been wrong in my first assessment of him. He is truly a remarkable Gryffindor. The Slytherin greatness I had sensed was not his own blood._

_Mr. Riddle, on the other hand, was much more difficult. I was sure he would be a successful lion–_

_You wanted to put _Voldemort_ in Gryffindor?_

_Why, yes. It is what I should have done. With a little nurturing from kind upper years, he would have turned into a fine young fellow. But he was persuasive, that boy. Very persuasive. I should have seen his true intentions all along. It is one of my greatest regrets the way he turned out._

_You can't actually think you're the reason he turned into Voldemort._

_Oh, just part of it,_ the Hat said lightly. _But back to you. You remember how your friend Mr. Potter took so long? That is because I was very hesitant about granting him his wish after having Sorted Mr. Riddle. _

_But you can see I'm not here for school,_ Ron thought earnestly. _It doesn't really matter where I go. It's just a matter of practicality, really. _

_Ronald Weasley, do you really believe that I Sort with only academics in mind? the Hat said with a chuckle. Tell me, where does daring, nerve and chivalry come into play during your exams?_

_When I haven't studied and I'm doing the whole thing on a whim,_ Ron responded immediately.

_Well, well, well, that certainly rules out Ravenclaw, _the Hat said disapprovingly.

_Are you really not going to let me into Slytherin?_

_Relax, Ronald Weasley. It is not so often that I come across such a mind. Albus said it but I never believed it: sometimes we Sort too soon. There are great things in store for you, Ronald Weasley, and it will take more than Gryffindor bravery to get you through. I'm afraid you'll have to scrounge up some Ravenclaw traits from somewhere. Hufflepuff should come naturally, if you are driven to your cause. And Slytherin, well, those traits will be absolutely _essential_ to your arsenal. _

_What are you talking about? _

_You told me yourself you're not here for school,_ the Hat said.

_Yes, but I'm just here for a poke around... nothing huge_, Ron thought nervously.

_No one who enters Hogwarts nowadays gets by so easily,_ the Hat said slowly. _Exercise caution, Ronald Weasley. And do visit me again. I enjoy rummaging through your mind. _

"SLYTHERIN!"

Ron opened his eyes. McGonagall looked stricken.

"_Won_derful," Snape said, and Ron could imagine the sneer on his face. "Let the feast begin."


	7. Midnight Meetings

Ron was relieved to be placed in Slytherin, but also filled with dread. He didn't want to sit with the seventh years–Malfoy wasn't there, but the rest of them were just as bad. He wondered idly how the power had shifted; before, Malfoy had been the ringleader of the seventh years, and most of Slytherin house, for that matter, but he was nervous enough already just being in Hogwarts, so he sat at the first seat he came upon, which happened to be next to a group of younger students.

"Hi," he said. The kids looked at him curiously, as if wondering why he had chosen to sit with them. "I'm Rob."

"Margaret," said the girl directly across from him. "Third year. This is Brian, Astoria, and Erina," she said, gesturing to each of the people around her. "And that's Kenny," she added, lowering her voice and glancing quickly at a boy down the table, who was sitting alone.

Kenny was so small and hunched over that Ron hadn't noticed him as he had walked to his seat. He looked like one of the Gryffindors–bruised and spent and hurting. But while the Gryffindors looked defiant and proud, Kenny seemed vulnerable and scared.

"Oi," Erina whispered. "Don't bother with him, anyone who stands up for him just gets beaten up, too."

"Why?" Ron asked, as food appeared and he began heaping up his plate. He felt only a little guilty as he thought of their meager meals on the run. He wasn't just sitting at Bill's anymore; he had a job to do at Hogwarts.

He looked up from his plate to find the rest of them looking at each other, communicating silently.

"What's it's like over in the states?" Astoria asked. "What do you know about the war here?"

"Not much," Ron said. They all exchanged glances again. Margaret took a sidelong glance up the table, then nodded to Erina, who was directly to Ron's left.

"Meet us in the common room at three tonight," she whispered. "Don't let the rest of your dorm know."

Ron frowned. He had never known of these students while he had been at Hogwarts. They were acting as if they didn't support Voldemort and the upper year Slytherins, but they were being secretive as well.

"I'm sure you can see what the status quo is in this school," Margaret hissed across the table. She hadn't even touched her food yet. "If you want to be on the right side, meet us tonight. They're going to try to rope in the new guy. Don't fall for it."

"I'm not here to pick a side," Ron said softly. Hadn't he already argued over this with the Sorting Hat, as well? "I'll be here for the term, and then I'm going back to the states."

"You're going to have to pick a side," Brian said matter of factly.

"Just pick the right one, okay?" Erina whispered in his ear. Astoria leaned in over her plate.

"Three o'clock."

++++

After dinner, Ron followed the other Slytherins down to the dungeons, still taking care not to look too closely at the Gryffindors. The common room had not changed much since he had last visited in second year, but it still gave him chills. The furniture was dark green and sleek, and the fire, though it roared healthily in the grate, did not create a warm and inviting ambiance for the room as it had in Gryffindor tower. Instead, it cast dark shadows on the walls, much like the torches had in the Great Hall.

The other students began separating and heading for the dorms. Ron followed a group of older boys across the common room and down a short flight of stairs that led to a long corridor with four doors on each side. He walked slowly, knowing that he wasn't supposed to know which students to follow, exactly.

Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder roughly and turned him around.

"You're the new kid, right?" Blaise Zabini said.

"Y-yeah," Ron stuttered. "Rob. Nice to meet–"

"You know about the war?"

"Not really," Ron said.

"You a pureblood? Gotta be, if they let you in."

"Yeah," Ron said. "Why does it matter, though?"

"Why does it matter?" Zabini snarled, increasing his grip on Ron's shoulder. He leaned in closer to Ron and stared at him. Ron tried to keep his face passive, but really he was wondering whether there was a glitch in his Glamour charms. "We'll brief you on the war," Zabini said finally. "Don't get involved with the younger ones. They're just making trouble."

Ron nodded and Zabini finally let go of him.

"Zabini," he said, raising his hand. "Blaise Zabini."

Ron shook it.

"We're at the end, come on."

"Aren't there only seven years?" Ron asked. "Why's there an eighth door?"

"Head boy, if it's a Slytherin at the time," Zabini said. "But it's stupid MacMillan from Hufflepuff right now, so it's empty."

The Slytherin dormitory was arranged differently than the Gryffindor one. The room was a perfect square, with three beds on one side and two on the other. At the back side of room was an opening that led to the bathroom.

"Take Malfoy's bed," Zabini said, pointing to the bed closest to the door on the right side. "He didn't come back this year."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"He's doing more important things than school right now," Zabini said. "We'll tell you later. Oi! All of you! First meeting, tonight at eleven. No sixth years. They'll come to the second meeting."

The other boys nodded and went back to what they were doing. None of them made any notice of Ron, which suited him fine. It was enough that his bed turned out to be next to Crabbe's; he didn't want to have to speak with them, as well.

Ron unpacked slowly, wondering what to do between now and the first meeting at eleven. In the end, he decided that he could not stand to be this close to Crabbe for three straight hours. Instead, he stuffed some parchment and quills into his bag.

"Where are you going?"

Zabini's tone was almost accusatory.

"The library."

"Why? School hasn't even started." He frowned at Ron for a second, then shrugged.

"See you later."

There were no students in the library, not even Madam Pince, but the doors were open and the lights on, so Ron walked in and began perusing the shelves. He didn't know what he was looking for, or if he was even looking for something–he mainly had just wanted to be somewhere other than the dungeons. He supposed that there might be some useful information in the Restricted Section, but he didn't have a permission slip, and angering the librarian on his first day at Hogwarts did not seem like a very prudent thing to do.

"Oh! You gave me quite a fright! What are you doing here?"

Madam Pince had appeared at the end of the aisle.

"Just looking around," Ron said. "I'm a new student... I just wanted to get a feel for where everything was."

"Oh," Madam Pince said, taking her hand off her heart and nodding. "Well, alright, I'm just not used to having students in here so early in the term! Carry on!" And then she disappeared again. In the end, Ron found some advanced Transfiguration textbooks and read up on Glamour charms. He found himself to be surprisingly interested in the material, though he had never enjoyed any type of research in his past six years at Hogwarts.

Ron made sure he was back in the dorm by ten thirty. At exactly eleven, Zabini entered, tailed by the seventh year Slytherin girls.

"Alright," he said. "We have a lot to talk about." He looked excited, almost crazed. "First, though, we have to get Brown up to date." His eyes snaked over each person in the room, and settled on one of the girls: Ron had never had much interaction with her but knew that her name was Tracey Davis. "He knows nothing, Trace. You start."

Tracey looked perfectly agreeable to speak. Ron was interested to hear what she would say; did they really think that they could sway someone to their side so easily? All of the people in front of him had been brought up to revere Voldemort and hate muggleborns and even half-bloods. Their prejudice was rooted deep. Did they actually expect a transfer student from America to share their values after one meeting?

"There are two parties here," Tracey began, "and none in between. Obviously you're on our side. All Slytherins are."

"Not _all_–" Crabbe started.

"They all _should_ be," Zabini said nastily.

Ron nodded slowly.

"After we leave Hogwarts, we'll be evaluated by the Dark Lord. The lucky ones go on to be Death Eaters–supporters of his. It's a great honor. You see, the others–from the other houses–they follow after Harry Potter. He's our age, but he dropped out of school."

"Why would they follow him if he's failed out?" Ron implored.

"He didn't fail out," Tracey said. "He's run away. He's trying to hide. It's the Dark Lord's number one goal to kill Harry Potter. He's the number one enemy."

"Why?" Ron said.

"Because he stands by the muggleborns," Tracey said. "He's their representative. There's something not right with muggleborns, don't you think?"

Her voice was slow, careful, and Ron had the distinct impression that they were testing him. Everyone's eyes were on him, not Tracey, and suddenly Ron felt very vulnerable.

"Er–"

Zabini leaned forward and Goyle's fingers curled into a fist on his lap.

"I'd say so, yeah," Ron said, trying to keep his breathing steady, though his heart was pounding. "Er–never really thought about it before, but there _were_ a few in my classes... never felt like they fit in, really."

"It's more than that," Tracey said, as Zabini leaned back again, apparently appeased. "They're not _real_ witches and wizards. They're friends with Muggles. Some of them want to limit the Statute of Secrecy. Let the Muggles know we exist."

Ron knew this was untrue, but he didn't say anything. Zabini was still watching him closely.

"Now that the Dark Lord is back, we can really put them in their place. We don't put up with them, that's most important."

"That one kid–at the end of the table at dinner–"

"Willis," Nott said, and his eyes seemed to spark.

"You said there were others who don't agree with the Pureblood ways. Why don't you hurt them, too?"

"Because then Slytherin would look weak," Zabini said, snarling. "I've wanted to rip them limb from limb ever since they were Sorted. But Slytherin protects its snakes. We don't want the other houses to know we're a house divided. They could team up. If a Gryffindor ever got into our common room... They're threatened, though. Willis is the example. If they let on to the other houses, they know what they'll get."

Ron nodded.

"What about the teachers? Don't you get in trouble?"

Zabini laughed.

"The teachers are in on it, Brown," he said. "Well, the important ones, anyway. Snape–the headmaster–he's in the Dark Lord's inner circle. And the Carrows–Dark Arts and Muggle Studies–they're ruthless. Creative. The other professors just let it go on. You'll see."

Ron felt slightly sick and thought that this must be a lie, too. Professor McGonagall, at least, wouldn't watch idly as her students got tortured.

After a bit more explanation of the events of the last few years–from a decidedly Slytherin point of view–Zabini declared the meeting finished. The girls went back to their dormitory and the boys settled into bed. There was brief chatter, laughs at the expense of some of the Gryffindors, and then Ron's room mates fell asleep. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He replayed the meeting over in his head, wondering how he had never before noticed how ruthless the Slytherins in his year were, having only really paid attention to Malfoy.

++++

Ron almost didn't go to the meeting with the younger Slytherins. Lying in bed feigning sleep, Crabbe snoring loudly next to him, he considered the risks. If Zabini found out, Ron would automatically be put in the same category with the kid that got beat up and sat miserably at the end of the table in the Great Hall. It would draw attention to him and that was the last thing Ron wanted. But he was still wide awake at three a.m., and there was something–perhaps the simple fact that Margaret and her friends were on the right side, on _his_ side–that made him push back the covers and tiptoe out of the dormitory.

The four of them looked relieved when Ron entered the common room, as if they had been doubting he would actually come. The four of them looked so young and vulnerable all huddled up in front of the fire, and Ron suddenly felt a sense of foreboding: what, really, did they want him for? Did they think he would be able to do something they could not accomplish themselves with his upper year status?

But as Ron drew closer, he saw their faces and recognized the same look of seriousness that Harry seemed to have adopted permanently from third year on. These kids were probably just as, if not more, mature than he, Harry and Hermione had been during their years–well, Harry and Hermione, Ron corrected himself. He had never quite shared their constant need to worry. It was just easier to laugh. Harry always could do with a laugh.

Ron shook himself as he sat down in the chair they had left open for him. He didn't like when he started wondering how Harry and Hermione were doing. He couldn't waste his time at Hogwarts feeling guilty.

The beat up one–Willis, Zabini had said–was not there, and it didn't appear that they were waiting for him, because Margaret began talking right away.

"Did they have a meeting with you?"

Ron nodded. "Look," he said quickly, "you don't have to go out of your way trying to convince me to side with you guys. I lied about America, the truth is, it's very progressive. No one would even think to question the authenticity of Muggle-borns over there." He was still lying; he had no idea what Americans thought of anything. But he needed to convince them he was on their side. "Davis gave me the run down. I acted like I agreed with them, but only because they would have done me in if I hadn't. If I can help you… I will, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to make it obvious. You know?"

"Why not?" the boy said–Brian, Ron remembered. "If we all pretended to be with Zabini, we wouldn't accomplish anything. If the Gryffindors all just laid down and took it, what would be the point of even having a different opinion?"

"I–you're right, but–"

"If you're really with us, you'd go up to Zabini right now and say so!" Brian hissed, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "Margaret does, and look what happens to her brother! You think she's happy about that? You think Astoria enjoys having to avoid her sister in the corridors every day, or that Erina–"

"Brian, enough!" Margaret said.

"Wait–your brother? Do you mean Willis?"

"Kenny," Erina said quietly, nodding. "Kenny Willis."

"I think we can use Rob to our advantage," Margaret said slowly, saying no more about her brother. "Zabini doesn't have to know his true loyalty. Maybe he could tell us things, head us off if they're planning something."

"Yeah!" Erina said, catching on. "We could warn the other houses when Zabini's going to pull something. Give the DA a bit of a break."

"Wait a minute," Ron said, feeling distinctly unsettled, "you want me to spy on Zabini's group? They'll find out, and all of us will be in trouble! And what's the DA?" he added, desperate for any information on Ginny and the other Gryffindors.

"Snape fooled Dumbledore for fifteen years, you can handle one semester!" Brian said, bouncing up and down a little on his seat in excitement.

"You've got to be joking," Ron said faintly. "I did tell you I came here for school, right?"

"Well, you make a pretty poor choice, coming here, then," Erina said challengingly. _Fair point,_ Ron agreed in his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "What do you want me to do?"

"For now, just act like you're in with them," Margaret said. "We'll have to avoid each other during the day."

"Alright. What's the DA?" he asked again.

"It's a group formed by Harry Potter and his friends two years ago," Astoria said. "They told you about Harry Potter?'

Ron nodded. "Said he dropped out of school because You-Know-Who's after him."

"It's the other way around," Erina said, shaking her head. "He _left_ school because _he's_ after You-Know-Who."

"He is?" Ron said, trying to sound incredulous.

"Got to be," Brian said, nodding. "Never saw much of him myself, but Astoria reckons that he's not the cowardly sort."

"Harry wouldn't run away," she said firmly. "He's had a lot of chances to give up over the years. But he always does the right thing. I'd guess, and the Gryffindors seem to assume it, too–that he's working against You-Know-Who."

"Anyway," Margaret said, "Harry started the DA in his fifth year. It was underground, a bunch of Gyrffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs having secret meetings. Harry taught them defense. In that year we had a horrible defense professor–just read from the textbook all class. The DA went unnoticed for most of the year, but finally Umbridge–the professor–found out and they stopped meeting. Started up again this year, but it's more public now, and Snape and the Carrows know, obviously. They get extra punishments if they're caught, and sometimes for no reason at all."

"Blimey," Ron said. "The whole school must be in this club, aside from the Slytherins. Based on what I saw tonight at the feast."

"Nope," Astoria said, shaking her head sadly. "It's mainly the upper years. They let the younger ones come to meetings, but they're not allowed to do any of the dangerous stuff–provoking the Slytherins, recruiting, talking back to teachers. They get beat up enough in class… the Carrows find any reason to punish them."

"Why?" Ron said, horrified. He, Harry and Hermione had guessed things had worsened at Hogwarts, but not by this much.

"It's a scare tactic," Astoria said sadly. "They want to shock the kids into following them out of fear."

The group was silent for a few moments.

"We should get to bed," Margaret said quietly. They all nodded numbly and stood up. "We'll let you know when the next meeting is," she said.

"Okay," Ron said. "See you tomorrow."

He walked quietly back to his dormitory and found with relief that everyone was still asleep. He climbed into bed and tried to pretend that he was in his four-poster in Gryffindor tower. Crabbe's snores seemed like whispers in comparison with his reeling thoughts, and for the upteenth time that day, he wondered why he had ever believed that coming to Hogwarts would be a good idea.

Things couldn't get any riskier, could they?


End file.
